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I’ve always loved beards. I finally reached a stage where I can grow a half decent one. My daughter has never known me to have anything but a hairy face. Much to her delight as she swings off it whilst not giving in to sleep. After a misjudgement whilst trimming I’m now beardless and it took my daughter a good half a day to accept that I was definitely her dad.

My life has revolved around bottles for 8 months now. But not the beer filled ones of old, but ones filled with overly sweet baby formula stuff. My mind constantly trying to remember how many we have/need/may need/have lost.

The Internet is a dangerous thing. Filled with bullshit. Especially when it comes to raising children. On the one hand people want us to raise our children as individuals and other offer very prescriptive advice on a variety of subjects. But not all children are the same. Yes it ‘MAY’ have worked for you to put sweetcorn between little Kylie ‘s toes to stop her coughing or to continously boil the kettle to get Jimmy to sleep. Not everything works for every kid.
Parenthood so far has taught me to trust my instincts. As if deep in my memory is the answer to a lot of the questions I see people using search engines for.
I’ll raise my kid. You raise yours.

Cut the bullshit and let me get on with being a beardless, bottle obsessed, brave, best I can be Dad.

All consuming.
From Day one I became ‘that dad’. Couldn’t go anywhere without thinking of picking up a little something for this unborn bundle of joy. Whether useful or not.
No – one can prepare you for the birth. When that Baby is put into your arms. You think you knew how to unconditionally love. Nah. This is a whole new level. At exactly midnight on 30th August 2014. I held my daughter for the first time.

After days of waiting. She was finally here. After days without sleep, proper food or beer. It was happening. It was real. And I couldn’t stop looking at her. Having to go home and rest was hard because adrenaline was keeping me awake.
And this is where the story begins.